


Three Days

by orangeCrates



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Captivity, Gen, Haunting, Horror, Starvation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-31 18:43:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6482695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangeCrates/pseuds/orangeCrates
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The men working at Abstergo are very scientific minded. Ghosts and curses and magic were things of the past (even if the Pieces of Eden came close they were still based in science). But still, after Subject 17 dies in captivity and his corpse was used to unlock the memories of his ancestors, strange things began happening that no one could explain.</p>
<p>Like, how come the only memories they could interact with were the last three days leading up to Subject 17 (Miles, Desmond)'s death?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Days

**Author's Note:**

> Round 4 for the Please Practice Fire Safety Contest!
> 
> The prompt was:
> 
> instead of being rescued at the end of 2, Desmond is left in his cell unable to escape until he starves to death. Abstergo doesn't believe in haunting but they can't explain why any time someone tries to use Desmond's DNA to access his ancestors' memories the only thing they can relive is the last three days of his life.

_Desmond knew, with a kind of clarity that had been lacking from his life for a while now, that he was going to die. He thought, what a shitty way to die._

_He thought (and maybe it was the phantom memory of having_ been _Altair that made him do it), it wasn't going to end like this. No way._

~ + ~

Subject 17 was a fine specimen, a rare find containing within his DNA so many possibilities that Abstergo would not consider giving him up even post-mortem.

With further development of the Animus system, they did not need the subject to bear the proper genetic coding. Instead, they could view it through another's DNA and, they thought, perhaps with this they will be rid of that pesky Bleeding Effect once and for all (because it not only cost them Subjects but often made them _sympathetic_ towards the Assassin cause).

For that, Subject 17 seemed like the perfect bridge.

_But appearances certainly can be deceiving._

~ + ~

They had meant to send him to the Renaissance, to Italy with its warm Mediterranean weather and blue skies, with dark fabrics to show off intricate, golden embroidery.

_He was sitting in a cell. There was no energy left in his limbs and it seemed like he was asleep more than he should be. When he was awake the hunger was like a physical vice on his body and he had a brief, hysterical thought of whether this was how food felt when it was being digested---_

The scientists looked at each other nervously before trying to set the correct date, find the correct memory.

They managed to change the date (finally).

It moved forward one day.

_He was cold all over, from his head to to his extremities. He had been shivering before, but he had also sweated until his body couldn't even put up that last bit of fight anymore--_

The Subject spasmed, his hands twitching and shivering in a cold that didn't exist. His mouth was slack and open and he panted.

"We should pull him out--"

"Dr. Vidic said--"

"But if we keep going--"

"There is no danger. He'll desync when Subject 17 kicks the bucket. What is the date?" They check the time stamp and flip through some files. "Fast forward it one more day. Then we'll be done with this."

_The actual moment of death was simple and not very painful. He simply closed his eyes and it was over. But the moments leading up to that was more of the same. A seemingly endless hunger and thirst (and briefly, he thought he saw food, but when he blinked it was gone). The moment right before death was not peaceful, however. It was plagued by the anger of death, of knowing that the bastards didn't have the decency to put a bullet in his head. He was_ hateful _in his last moments in a way he had never been before and he thought, "those fucking assholes."_

~ + ~

The subject (a volunteer from their Order. A true unsung hero with courage to do what was necessary) tried to laugh it off when he got off the Animus (what a fucking trip).

They shared nervous laughs and the subject went to the canteen and proceeded to eat his weight in food and drink until he felt like a water balloon.

~ + ~

They tried again, but (again), instead of Renaissance Italy the Subject ended up in that cell.

"Fuck," He said when he sat up, angrily shaking off the scientist who tried to help him up, "Fucking fix this thing before you put me in it again."

~ + ~

When they brought the news to him at first, Vidic sighed at them.

He said: fix it.

When they couldn't, because there is nothing wrong with it, he waited patiently for them to present their _theory_ before Vidic shook his head at them like he might have _pitied_ their stupidity if he weren't completely _disdainful_ and _irritated_ by it.

He said: a coincidence.

He also said: there are no such things as ghosts, now tell the subject to get back in the machine if there is nothing wrong with it.

~ + ~

When the subject wouldn't do it, they sedated him and put him back in.

They have done worse in the name of _research_ (and some might say that that was precisely the problem).

~ + ~

This time they picked a different era, a different set of memories. Maybe the problem was Italy, maybe Ezio Auditore's memories were just corrupted (by what? Or rather, by whom?). They chose the Caribbean, during the Golden Age of Piracy. There was another Piece of Eden they found records of. Perhaps if they looked there--

_There was a moment when a bug had crawled across the floor. It had come before and he had just groaned about it the first time, a day into his captivity._

_"The least you can do is keep this place clean. Gross."_

_But now, after so many days of no food and no water, that small creature looked almost appealing. He lurched forward towards it, but he felt dizzy from hunger and he lost his balance and landed face first on the ground, the bug scuttling just outside of his fingers' reach..._

_Desperation does funny things to a man's head, perhaps, because the whole thing seemed hilarious, for some reason and he laughed (but it sounded/felt like he was sobbing, but he felt dry all the way inside and it didn't seem possible that he'd have any water to spare for tears)--_

When the subject finally desynced, he turned on his side and threw up.

"Please," he said, "don't put me back inside. Don't do it. I'm begging you--"

~ + ~

"Ghosts and curses do not exist." Vidic said firmly as they went through a list of possible candidates to take the current subject's place, "that which people have thought to be magic was nothing more than Precusor artifacts, Pieces of Eden. And, Mr. Miles, as impressive as his ancestry was, is only human."

He sounded irritated at having to explain all that _again_. Then he pulled out a sheet of paper. "This one. Choose her."

~ + ~

But no matter who they brought in, the results were the same.

The scientists tried all different time periods. But it didn't matter what time period they chose, be it Victorian London, the War of Independence in America, the French Revolution--all of them ended with the subject ending up reliving the same three days from September of 2012, all set in the same cell. There was no moving beyond that and any attempt to bring time forward or back could not go beyond these three days.

_His throat was so dry. It felt like the inside of it was made of sandpaper and the world seem to spin even though he was lying down. His sleep seemed endless and he fell into it more easily than he ever had while he was on the run. But it was never restful. He sleep was plagued by nightmares and he woke up with that anxiousness and that fear chasing him into sleep._

_He thought, dying didn't have to be so painful. He remembered Altair and the precision of his kills and he wished for some sort of weapon, some kind of blade or maybe just--_

The subjects came out of the Animus craving water or food. They came out crying and unable to sleep in the dark. There had been no fear of death in those last three days but they woke up with the lingering _anger_ and _hate_ burning in their throats.

The scientists switched the machine, rebuilt a new one from scratch but there was no difference.

Many of their subjects, many of them volunteers, quit (one or two had been taken away because they attempted to harm themselves. Or, worse yet, any other Abstergo employee they encountered).

~ + ~

"This is getting ridiculous!" Vidic slammed a hand on the table, "we are losing volunteers faster than we are getting more. How is this problem not resolved?"

The gathered scientists and technicians had no answer. Not even Vidic could find anything wrong with the machine.

"All of you are incompetent! It doesn't matter." Vidic seethed, "find someone! I don't care who. Put them in the Animus, we will find out what the hell is going on!"

~ + ~

Of course, even though he said it like that, everyone already had an idea of what was happening. Whether they believed in ghosts or not, there was no denying that it was tied to Subject 17 and the circumstances of his death.

But then, what could they do?

"Thank you for volunteering, before we begin here are some forms for you to fill out--oh, that one? Don't worry, it's just a precaution, just a formality. You know, for the insurance company. Don't worry, nothing will happen to you--just sign here and here and...here. Yes, very good. It's very good to have you on board."


End file.
